


Photo Shoot

by the_nita



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Hurt Locker (2008)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Inspired by Photography, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nita/pseuds/the_nita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a photographer to the rich and famous has its perks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photo Shoot

He’s perfect. It’s the only way you can describe it as you feel your mouth go dry and your panties soak in seconds.

You signed on for this gig knowing you were going to be taking photos of some celebrities. It was a party and they were getting some “for posterity” shots. Most were politely bored and posed a few times before moving on.

But Jeremy? He was looking for trouble and had zero problems with finding it. He’d shown up in a pair of black jeans that were easily a size too small and a dress shirt he hadn't bothered doing up all of the buttons on that showed off his arms and abs. Topping it off was a black leather jacket that clung to him and black heavy boots that were just a little scuffed and dusty from the road.

He straddled the leather chair you had for them to sit at, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. Legs spread, it was impossible to not notice the sizable bulge in his pants.

“So where do you want me, dollface?” He took a long drag on the cigarette, sucking at it as he looked over.

Your eyes on the way his mouth trapped that paper roll, the tip glowing as he did and you can’t think.

“Uh….there’s good.” You fiddle with your aperture settings, giving your hands something to do to keep them from shaking.

He gets comfortable, leaning back, still sucking on that damned cigarette. People have told you Hiddleston sits like a whore, but nothing compares to Renner's confident open legged sprawl that screams he doesn't care if the world knows exactly how big his dick is, because it’s swinging free.

You swallow, keeping yourself from saying something dumb and point the camera at him. "Smile please?“

But the smile is that polite plastic smile he always has when he’s in front of the cameras doing a photo call. Nothing of his personality in it, nothing of the confidence and the swagger that the rest of him is giving off. 

“How about thinking of what you’d like to be doing right now, instead of sitting in front of a camera?” you offer, trying to get that natural light of his smile to come through.

He chuckles, a filthy noise that goes right to your pussy. “I think if I was doing what I wanted to right now, you probably wouldn't want to be taking pictures.” His eyes roam over your body, not even pretending to not be mentally undressing you. 

You’re trying to remember what you’re doing and how to work your camera as you get a few pictures, that expression not the smile you were going for, but it’s so purely raw sex, you couldn't get a better one without someone taking off their clothes.

Man you shouldn't have thought that.

He’s sucking on that cigarette again, eyes dark and speculative, fingers rolling it between them. You can see every vein on his hands, the knobs of his fingers, the calluses on his fingertips, every bit of it captured in your lens and all you can think about is the way it would feel to be that cigarette. You've never been this envious of a piece of paper and a sheaf of tobacco.

His speculation of you continues as you photograph him. If you didn't know better, there was something stirring in his far too tight jeans but you also know that between the way your panties are hot and wet as a swamp and the way your nipples are hard like diamond points, you’re not exactly an objective observer. 

But when you’re done taking photos, he comes over, his hand reaching for the camera, wanting to see the shots. You pass him the camera and he makes appreciative noises as he flips through them. “You’re good.”

You stammer a thank you. He’s had lots of photos taken, he’s probably being polite.

He hands you the camera back and then grabs his wallet out, grabbing a scrap of paper, the back of some old receipt and tugging the pen out of your photography vest, scribbling a number on it.

He slides the pen back into your pocket and with a cocky little grin, his fingers tuck the scrap of paper into the v of your bra, eyes on yours as he does, trusting his sense of touch to get it just right. “Give me a call later. I’ll show you what I was thinking about.”

He pats the pocket over your breast with the pen in it. “Then maybe I take some pictures of you.”

He swaggers off, cocksure and entirely too much like sex on legs, leaving you panting and wanting to know what the hell just happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a friend fangirling like mad about this shot from RDJ’s 50th (https://40.media.tumblr.com/fa07f154abc5cce0ce614245bc749c66/tumblr_nmg1cxQ9xc1rq27o1o1_540.jpg). To roughly paraphrase, how can a blurry photo of him sitting and smoking be that hot?


End file.
